It couldn’t take long

to even the keel

and separate the man from

the bird.

Mostly it took

nor even nor book

to licence the thrill

from its rook

-ery of chance.

Never before had the man

opened doors of the heart

and it’s whimsical place

on the hearth. But

no one ensured that the

right comes once more

as the wily men

of the Nansook poured

forth with their

anger for the tumult

and furs.

In the end it was just

to fight with mere listening

at the trials of the

men and machine.

But ever so long

it reported in song

that the hills were

now vacant of longing

for the arrow to shoot

the man with the loot

and it came about

that all were involute.


It takes only two things to be able to make the world a better part

of you

It takes only two things to be able to make it all the

way into your heart

It takes only the woe of the world to make all the things

in your light seem able to make the

one in the middle try again and again

but no one can see that all the work of one is able to make

it to the then and there

where no one knows who is able to make it

to the park and all and that is why they say

it is about the right of all to make it in the fall

and not the right of the one who wins

to ask it of the one in the end of the fool and the fenne.


Bruced du Faux


ecum metese netese netese tesete netese tesusu netesu nutesu nutesu nutuse sunutu nutu end


How can I tell you how long I have waited?

Time means nothing without your ear

to the wall of my heart, listening for the sound

of my eratic path to your house of Joy.

Oh what am I to say of my trembling hand

upon your chest as I push for the try against

the odds of a team of players who know who

is going to win without costing the game

for the word is that all the real players

are about to resign their time for the working

man of God is here.


Taking life a pace at a time

without time for a new kind of luck

to make it to the end of the road

without being blown away from a truck

The police don’t know how to deal

with the works of the gun and metal

they only know how to defend themselves

and hold our lives in their hands

but do not see it as a right and wrong thing

it is about the work of society in making

it evil to be black and not white

like they are in the days when no one

could look at you, who could look and

not be feared but coppers and their knowledge

of the course of events in cells makes it

sure nuff the best place not to be.


As she sings the blues

with a cheap guitar bought

at the five and dime

Her voice lingers over

me as if to say

will you still love me

when we meet in the after

math of this bourbon

and dry?

Will you still love

me as my words float like

a noose above your head?

It’s easy to move on and slow

to move down the ward’s passages

looking for crazies to come

and wilt before the heat

of suns.

I will love you like a needle

he replies, like a depot

in the backside, unwilling or

no to your medication

you will find me here

basking in the warmth

of your rays.

What shall I do with

you now you are disabled

with love and no longer

useful to the pitch of

the crowd’s voice in the tiers

Can you no longer hear?

You fall over on the sidewalk

and sleep all the day

what do I do

when you start to drool out my name

running from your mouth

like accusations of love

unreturned? Listen to my guitar

it’s telling you to go

down that hard solitary road

of insanity and alcohol

I loved you once

but it is not here in the end

that we shall see the uses of our

needs being held open for the

warriors to see.


You gave me your empty mailbox address

asked me to use it when I needed

forgotten times when things were easy

invisible entreaty to be mine.

I asked you about the house and car

and how to keep the kids fulfilled

not knowing when to come back

and find the woods on fire.

I cyphered off a reckless post

a distant laughter was kindled

of love of a vine so ever twisted

and gnarled for moist tongues

refreshening voices, singing out

in full valour of false and incoherent


I speak in tongues and hide in the shadows

and show my heart to no one but thee

here in the darks of the web I imagine and

place the part of me that wants to be seen

but not available to all but some who look

and see me naked without wounds

for no one could volunteer

here without knowing that soon

it will be too late and they will

find out.

How to strip you bare.

Take a moment of solace

two moments of dread

lie down on the hard wooden floor

feel it flat and cold and non compliant

great friction suddenly holds sway

as no limb behaves itself before the mighty

insertion and its mitigant

the needle versed in prayer.


Little Miss Smarty Pants

Have you seen your

Siamese Twin in the light

of the dawning of an

enervating age

of life without tanks

and love without rocks

to steer by?

Smugglers draw you

on their torch

while she hides her

face from the receivers

of cargo without knowing

that it takes a lot of time

to make it to the end

where the light stops

and her gaze sees you

in the papers about the rioting

of life against the impoverishment

of spirit that deigns to wander

about the nights and asks how

to open doors without touching?


Fire at the po-lice van

Fire in the cells

Here the fire engine

Hear the Mission Bells

Another black psycho

who wouldn’t take his pills

another cultural victim

death can drink his fill

of the ten thousand and more

who resist with such assurance

they know their faith is sound

but no ambulance.




Every night I go flying

through walls and ceilings for

the work of the One is

never done.

I will not ask

for the right

to assemble my deeds

for you here

but ask now for the time

to make the right

of all things

like the realisation

of consciousness

the precious two


between eyes at the front


and the centre

of thought

knowing the


for them first time

when blindfolded

with the odour

of race.


It took just one lazy eye

to track your movements across

the page

another to flow with arms

and legs

for the word of all creatures

is about to fail

and that means a long time


to the laid down laws

of the gravity field

we feel through the tips

of our seats and our hands

don’t know when to stop

holding onto the world without

giving away the works

of mankind. For he is not

going to make the end of the word

without knowing who is in the hand

and who is in the feet of it.

Who feels the flutter of vibrations

and who steps lightly across

moonshadows of war and terrier